Man! Some of the time I wished I was as smart as these teachers thought I was because if I had been I would have dropped that book and run all the way home. If I’d been smart enough to figure out what was going to happen next I would have never gone into that room.
I stood in the hall looking at the stuff they wanted me to read while Mr. Alums told his class, “All right, I have a special treat for you today. I’ve often told you that as Negroes the world is many times a hostile place for us.” I saw Mr. Alums walking back and forth whacking a yardstick in his hand. “I’ve pointed out time and time again how vital it is that one be able to read well. I’ve stressed on numerous occasions the importance of being familiar and comfortable with literature. Today Miss Henry and I would like to give you a demonstration of your own possibilities in this regard. I want you to carefully note how advanced this second-grade student is, and I particularly want you to be aware of the effect his skills have upon you. I want you to be aware that some of our kids read at miraculous levels.”
I saw Mr. Alums point the yardstick at someone somewhere in the class and say, “Perhaps you’d like to finish the introduction, I think you know our guest quite well.”
Whoever he pointed at said, “What? I didn’t do nothin’.”
Miss Henry waved for me to come in and stand in front of the class. I guess I was too nervous about Mr. Alums to have recognized the voice before, but as soon as I walked into the room I froze. There in the two seats closest to the teacher’s desk in the very first row sat Buphead and Byron! The Langston Hughes book jumped from my hand and the whole class laughed, everyone but Byron. His eyes locked on mine and I felt things start melting inside of me.
Mr. Alums slammed the yardstick on his desk and the class got real, real quiet.
“Let’s see if you find this so humorous after you’ve heard how well this young man reads. And Byron Watson, if you are incapable of taking some of the fire out of your eyes I assure you I will find a way to assist you.
“If, instead of trying to intimidate your young brother, you would emulate him and use that mind of yours, perhaps you’d find things much easier. Perhaps you wouldn’t be making another appearance in the fifth grade next year, now would you, hmmm?” Byron got one more dirty look in at me, then looked down at his desk.
Mr. Alums might as well have tied me up to a pole and said, “Ready, aim, fire!”
I read through the Langston Hughes stuff real quick but that was a mistake. Miss Henry said, “Slow down some, Kenneth,” and then she took the book from me and handed it back upside down. She had a great big smile when she told Mr. Alums, “When he goes too fast, this slows him down a bit.” I read some more with the book upside down and got some real strange looks from the fifth-graders.
Finally they let me quit. Mr. Alums stood up and clapped his hands and a couple of the old kids did too. Byron never looked at me the whole time but Buphead was giving me enough dirty looks for both of them.
“Bravo! Outstanding, Mr. Watson! Your future is unlimited! Bravo!” All I could do was try to figure out how to get home alive.
I didn’t even get out of the school yard before Byron and Buphead caught up to me. A little crowd bunched up around us, and everyone was real excited because they knew I was about to get jacked up.
Buphead said, “Here that little egghead punk is.”
“Leave the little clown alone,” Byron said. “It’s a crying shame, takin’ him around like a circus freak.”
He punched me kind of soft in the arm and said, “At least you oughta make ’em pay you for doin’ that mess. If it was me they’d be comin’ out they pockets with some foldin’ money every time they took me around.”
I couldn’t believe it. I think Byron was proud of me!
When everybody saw Byron wasn’t going to do anything to me for being smart they all decided that they better not do anything either. I still got called Egghead or Poindexter or Professor some of the time but that wasn’t bad compared to what could have happened.
The other thing that people would have teased me a lot more about if it hadn’t been for Byron was my eye.
Momma said it wasn’t important, that I was a real handsome little boy, but ever since I’d been born one of my eyeballs had been kind of lazy. That means instead of looking where I tell it to look, it wanted to rest in the corner of my eye next to my nose. I’d done lots of things to make it better, but none of them worked. I’d done exercises where I had to look that way, then this way, this way, then that way, up and down, down and up, but when I went to look in the mirror the eye still went back to its corner. I’d worn a patch on my other eye to make the lazy one work but that didn’t do anything either. It was fun to play like I was a pirate for a while but that got boring.
Finally Byron gave me some good advice. He noticed that when I talked to people I squinched my lazy eye kind of shut or that I’d put my hand on my face to cover it. I only did this ’cause it got hard to talk to someone when they were staring at your eye instead of listening to what you had to say.
“Look, man,” he told me, “if you don’t want people to look at your messed-up eye you just gotta do this.” Byron made me stand still and look straight ahead, then he stood on my side and told me to look at him. I turned my head to look. “Naw, man, keep your head straight and look at me sideways.”
I did it. “See? You ain’t cockeyed no more, your eyes is straight as a arrow now!” I went to the bathroom, stood on the toilet and leaned over to look in the mirror sideways, and Byron was right! I couldn’t help smiling. Momma was right too, I was a kind of handsome little guy when I looked at myself sideways and both eyes were pointing in the same direction!
Even though my older brother was Clark Elementary School’s god that didn’t mean I never got teased or beat up at all. I still had to fight a lot and still got called Cockeye Kenny and I still had people stare at my eye and I still had to watch when they made their eyes go crossed when they were teasing me. It seemed like one of these things happened to me every day, but if it hadn’t been for Byron I knew they’d have happened a whole lot more. That’s why I was kind of nervous about what was going to happen if Byron ever got out of sixth grade and went to junior high school before I caught up to him. That’s why I was going to send off for that book Learn Karate in Three Weeks that was in the back of my comic books.
The worst part about being teased was riding the school bus on those mornings when Byron and Buphead decided they were going to skip school.
We’d be standing on the corner waiting for the bus, Byron, Buphead and all the other old thugs in one bunch, Larry Dunn, Banky and all the other young thugs in another bunch, the regular kids like Joetta in a third bunch and me off to the side by myself. When we saw the bus about three blocks away we all got in a line—old thugs, young thugs, regular kids, then me. It wasn’t until the bus stopped and the door opened that I knew whether By and Buphead were going. I hated it when By walked past and said, “Give my regards to Clark, Poindexter.” Some of the time those words were like a signal for the other kids to jump on me.
But the day I stopped hating the bus so much began with those same words. We were all lined up. “Give my regards to Clark, Poindexter,” By said, and disappeared around the bus’s back. I got on the bus and took the seat right behind the driver. The days By rode I would sit a few rows from him in the back, on other days the driver was the most protection.
The bus drove down into public housing and after everyone was picked up we headed toward Clark. But today the bus driver did something he’d never done before. He noticed two kids running up late … and he stopped to let them get on. Every other time someone was late he’d just laugh at them and tell the rest of us, “This is the only way you little punks is gonna learn to be punctual. I hope that fool has a pleasant walk to school.” Then no matter how hard the late kid banged on the side of the bus the driver would just take off, laughing out of the window.
That was part one of my miracle, that let me
know something special was going to happen. As soon as the doors of the bus swung open and two strange new boys got on, part two of my miracle happened.
Every once in a while, Momma would make me go to Sunday school with Joey. Even though it was just a bunch of singing and coloring in coloring books and listening to Mrs. Davidson, I had learned one thing. I learned about getting saved. I learned how someone could come to you when you were feeling real, real bad and could take all of your problems away and make you feel better. I learned that the person who saved you, your personal saver, was sent by God to protect you and to help you out.
When the bigger one of the two boys who got on the bus late said to the driver in a real down-South accent, “Thank you for stopping, sir,” I knew right away. I knew that God had finally gotten sick of me being teased and picked on all the time.
As I looked at this new boy with the great big smile and the jacket with holes in the sleeves and the raggedy tennis shoes and the tore-up blue jeans I knew who he was. Maybe he didn’t live a million years ago and maybe he didn’t have a beard and long hair and maybe he wasn’t born under a star but I knew anyway, I knew God had finally sent me some help, I knew God had finally sent me my personal saver!
As soon as the boy thanked the driver in that real polite, real country way I jerked around in my seat to see what the other kids were going to do to him. Whenever someone new started coming to Clark most of the kids took some time to see what he was like. The boys would see if he was tough or weak, if he was cool or a square, and the girls would look to see if he was cute or ugly. Then they decided how to treat him.
I knew they weren’t going to waste any time with this new guy, it was going to be real easy and real quick with him. He was like nobody we’d seen before. He was raggedy, he was country, he was skinny and he was smiling at everybody a mile a minute. The boy with him had to be his little brother, he looked like a shrunk-up version of the big one.
Everyone had stopped what they were doing and were real quiet. Some were standing up to get a better look. The older one got an even bigger smile on his face and waved real hard at everybody, the little shrunk-up version of him smiled and did the same thing. Then they said, “Hiya, y’all!” and I knew that here was someone who was going to be easier for the kids to make fun of than me!
Most of the kids were just staring. Then Larry Dunn said, “Lord today, look at the nappy-headed, down-home, country corn flake the cat done drugged up from Mississippi, y’all!” About a million fingers pointed at the new kids and a million laughs almost knocked them over.
Larry Dunn threw an apple core from the back of the bus and the new kid got his hand up just in time to block it from hitting him in the face. Little bits of apple exploded all over the kid, his brother and me. The other kids went wild laughing and saying to each other, “Hiya, y’all!”
The bus driver jumped out of his seat and stood between the new kid and Larry Dunn.
“You see? You see how you kids is? This boy shows some manners and some respect and y’all want to attack him, that’s why nan one of y’all’s ever gonna be nothin’!” The bus driver was really mad. “Larry Dunn, you better sit your ass down and cut this mess out. I know you don’t want to start panning on folks, do you? Not with what I know ’bout your momma.”
Someone said, “Ooh!” and Larry sat down. The bus was real quiet. We’d never seen the driver get this mad before. He pushed the two new kids into the same seat as me and told them, “Don’t you pay no mind to them little fools, they ain’t happy lest they draggin’ someone down.” Then he had to add, “Y’all just sit next to Poindexter, he don’t bother no one.”
I sat there and looked at them sideways. I didn’t say anything to them and they didn’t say anything to me. But I was kind of surprised that God would send a saver to me in such raggedy clothes.
3. The World’s Greatest Dinosaur War Ever
I couldn’t believe it! The door opened in the middle of math class and the principal pushed the older raggedy kid in. Mrs. Cordell said, “Boys and girls, we have a new student in our class starting today, his name is Rufus Fry. Now I know all of you will help make Rufus feel welcome, won’t you?”
Someone sniggled.
“Good. Rufus, say hello to your new classmates, please.”
He didn’t smile or wave or anything, he just looked down and said real quiet, “Hi.”
A couple of girls thought he was cute because they said, “Hi, Rufus.”
“Why don’t you sit next to Kenny and he can help you catch up with what we’re doing,” Mrs. Cordell said.
I couldn’t believe it! I’d wanted my personal saver to be as far away from me as he could get. I knew when you had two people who were going to get teased a lot and they were close together people didn’t choose one of them to tease, they picked on both of them, and instead of picking on them the normal amount they picked on them twice as much.
Mrs. Cordell pushed the new kid over to the empty seat next to me.
“Kenny, show Rufus where we are in the book.”
I watched the new kid sideways. He said, “Kenny? I thought they said your name was Poindexter.” The class cracked up, part from his country style of talking and part from laughing at me. I could tell that even Mrs. Cordell was fighting not to break out laughing.
Though he was looking friendly when he said this I kind of knew it had to be teasing, because whoever heard of anybody’s momma giving them a name like Poindexter? When he sat down next to me I tried to imitate Byron’s “Death Stare” but it didn’t work because the kid smiled at me real big and said, “My name’s Rufus, what are we doing?”
“Times tables.”
“That’s easy! You need some help?”
“No!” I said, and scooted around in my chair so all he could do was look at my back. This guy was real desperate for a friend because even though I wouldn’t say much back to him he kept jabbering away at me all through class.
When lunchtime came he followed me outside right to the part of the playground where I sit to eat. He forgot about bringing a lunch so I gave him one of Momma’s throat-choking peanut butter sandwiches and let him eat the last half of my apple. He really was a strange kid; he only ate half the sandwich and folded the rest up in the waxed paper and when I handed him the apple he even ate the spots where you could see my teeth had been, he didn’t even wipe the slob off first.
And, man, this kid could really talk! He was yakking a mile a minute, saying stuff like “Your momma sure can make a good peanut butter sandwich” and “How come these kids is so darn mean?”
Then he said something that made me get all funny and nervous inside, he said, “How come your eyes ain’t lookin’ in the same way?” I looked to see if maybe this was the start of some teasing but he looked like he really wanted to know. He wasn’t staring at me either, he was kind of looking down and kicking at the dirt with his raggedy shoes.
“It’s a lazy eye.”
He stopped kicking dirt and said, “Don’t it hurt?”
“No.”
He said, “Oh,” then kicked a little more dirt and hollered out, “Ooh, boy! Look at how fat that there is!”
“What?”
“You don’t see that squirrel?” he asked me, and pointed up at a tree across the street. “That sure is one fat, dumb squirrel!”
I looked at the squirrel, it didn’t look fat or dumb to me, it was a regular old squirrel sitting on a branch chewing on something. “How come you think it’s dumb?”
“What kind of squirrel sits out in the open like that with folks all round him? That squirrel wouldn’t last two seconds in Arkansas, I’da picked him off easy as nothing.” The new kid pointed at the squirrel like his finger was a gun and said, “Bang! Squirrel stew tonight!”
“You mean you shot a gun before?”
“Ain’t you?”
“You mean you really ate a squirrel before?”
“You ain’t?”
“A real, real gun?”
&nbs
p; “Just a twenty-two.”
“How’s a squirrel taste?”
“It taste real good!”
“You mean you really shoot ’em with real bullets and then you really eat ’em?”
“Why else shoot ’em?”
“Real squirrels, like that one?”
“Not that fat and not that stupid. I guess all the fat, stupid ones been got already. Since I been born all that’s left in Arkansas is skinny, sneaky ones. I think them Michigan squirrels is worth two Arkansas ones.”
“You aren’t lying?”
He raised his hand and said, “I swear for God. Ask Cody.”
“Who?”
The little shrunk-up version of the new kid was standing by himself up against the fence that runs around Clark, watching us. The new kid waved at him and his little brother came running over.
The big one pointed over at the squirrel. “Cody, lookit there!”
Cody laughed and said, “Ooh boy! That sure is a fat squirrel!”
“Think you could pick him off from here?”
Cody pointed his finger like it was a gun and said, “Bang! Squirrel stew tonight!”
I couldn’t believe this little kid had shot a gun too. “You shot a real gun?”
“Just a twenty-two.”
“With real bullets?”
The little one looked at his big brother to see why I was asking all this stuff. It seemed like they were trying to be patient with me, like I was a real dummy or something. The older one said, “Tell him.”
“Yeah, it was real bullets, what else you gonna shoot out a gun?”
I still didn’t believe them but the bell rang and lunch was over. I know he didn’t think I noticed, but the big kid gave his little brother the other half of my sandwich. I guess both of them had forgot about lunch.
This saver stuff wasn’t going anything like I thought it was supposed to. Rufus started acting like I was his friend. In the morning on the bus he’d always come sit next to me, and Mrs. Cordell put his regular seat next to mine in school. Every day at lunchtime he followed me out to the playground and ate half of my second sandwich, then sneaked the other half to Cody. He even found out where we lived and started coming over every night around five-thirty.
The Watsons Go to Birmingham--1963 Page 3